


something of value

by Damned_Writers



Series: the long road home [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Augment Prejudice, Bad Counselling Practise, Deanna gets to do good therapy stuff, Gen, Good Counselling Practise, Neurodiverse Julian, Neurodiverse Picard, Picard is dad... he's not as obviously dad as Sisko but he's dad, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Friendships but they're to come, also I low/highkey ship Julian and Data in an aro/ace way we'll see - also pre-relationship, unresolved childhood trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24183982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damned_Writers/pseuds/Damned_Writers
Summary: Julian runs into difficulties while looking for a new commission after Deep Space Nine. The stigma against Augments runs deep, but he's thinking up ways to change that... (Feat. so many counsellors, Julian thinking about Garak a lot and not being in the headspace to analyse that, more found-family vibes eventually)Part three of the long road home: A series exploring the lives of Julian, Kira, and Garak after the end of the Dominion War. The fics can be read as one shots or together.
Series: the long road home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744279
Comments: 23
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well I sorted my stuff into an ordered thing. I now know what I still need to write to fill in the gaps but *Kronk voice* aw yeah... it's all coming together.

Year: 2376

\------------------

Julian couldn't help but feel humiliated at having to submit to the continued psychological profiles just so that he could seek out a new commission.

He was luckier than some. Clones such as the Jem'Hadar were faced with even more suspicion than Augments, and the Augments who had grown up in institutions or been outed in less fortunate circumstances did not have the same luxury to seek work or even to move about freely, like he did through his employment with Starfleet. Most of them considered escaping being institutionalised their whole lives a far-off dream. Androids, Holograms and other A.I. were still only nebulously considered sentient on a case-by-case basis.

By comparison a series of tests and sessions with Starfleet psychiatrists and scientists was a walk in the park. Didn't mean he wasn't struggling with them though.

He'd somehow not considered the wider ramifications when he'd still been in the midst of the Dominion War. It wasn't that half a lifetime of fears had suddenly dissipated after his outing, or that he wasn't up to date on the laws surrounding genetic engineering; it was just that he'd been more concerned about Deep Space Nine being blown out of the sky on any given day. He just hadn't had the time then to think about it all... and maybe he hadn't wanted to.

He would never admit it to anyone but those who had been right there with him, but he missed all of that a bit. At least in wartime he knew where he was and who was with him. Now he was just... drifting. Most of his hard-won friends were scattered across the galaxy, and he'd encountered more fake sympathetic private contractors who wanted to “use his abilities” and disgusted commentary from people who thought he was a freak than he could count now that he was earthbound again.

Another issue was that Starfleet really weren't sure what to do with him. He'd agreed to all their concessions, because legally he had no other recourse, but the further along the process he got, the more he realised they were making it up as they went along. Augments had no rights beyond basic sentience laws, but they'd already agreed that he did, _except_ \- as it now turned out - when in between commissions. He might as well have been any other Augment, except for the uniform he was allowed to wear and the respect of rank and title being used.

Without commission he also wasn't given freedom of movement, but he thought Starfleet would give him a pass once he was safely put somewhere, and then he could leave his limited area of campus-ground and go visit the O'Briens or they could make the journey here – only half an hour's walk away, but seemingly an impossible distance. He'd already put in the request for it, as well as for a dozen other minor allowances. He felt like a child having to do so. Doctor Yel'an, his current counsellor, had promised to try and push them through after his last one had failed to do so.

Which left the wider and no-less difficult question of what his commission was going to _be._

He'd had vague ideas about taking on a job on Cardassia Prime, help out with the hospitals, check in on Garak. He'd spent more than one night reading through his letter again, fingers brushing over the last few words. Did Garak really want him to come? Maybe. But it ought to be for a visit, nothing more. He didn't want to intrude on his life.

There were a number of possible commissions through interesting space, but he didn't want to just do research for the sake of it. He wanted to know that what he was doing was helping people in the now, even if it meant being a field doctor – exhaustion, bad tech, no time for research or holosuite programs... but it'd mean actually _doing_ something. He couldn't unsee images of Cardassians with radiation poisoning, untreated wounds, rampant disease.

He couldn't stop rereading the letter. All that dust. The ghosts picking through the remains. The memorials. The Hebitians. The moons. Kelas Parmak... he sounded like a good man. Garak would be okay with him. And if there was one thing Julian had learnt throughout the last eight years, it was that it was hubris to think that he alone could solve everything, or was even needed to solve anything. Cardassia would survive without him. It didn't need him.

“What are you thinking about?” asked doctor Yel'an.

“My next commission,” he said.

“Have you started drafting requests?”

“No, not yet. It's funny...” he drifted off. He quite liked doctor Yel'an. She'd been assigned to his case after the most strenuous and suspicious of tests had been completed and made a point not to push as far as various other psychiatrists and counsellors had done. She was a Bolian, which probably helped with the lack of biases. He'd made his own vague notes on systemic prejudices surrounding engineered individuals since returning to earth, with those more ingrained in the Federation statistically being more likely to have internalised Terran concepts on the matter judging by how he was treated. He made it a point to try and get tested by people who were from planets that had joined the Federation later if he could have any say, and so far had been the most open with Doctor Yel'an. It wasn't fair to everyone that didn't care about artificially engineered discourse, but prejudice bred prejudice, he thought to himself.

“What's funny?”

“I'm so desperate to be allowed to get my next commission, but I... don't know what it is,” he finished untruthfully, still not sure if he could admit what it was he wanted to her. She seemed trustworthy, yes, but maybe that was an act. Even after all those lunches with Garak he'd never really learnt how to read people beyond the most obvious of social coding.

Doctor Yel'an clearly knew he was keeping things from her, but yet again took a more considerate, less direct approach. “We discussed before that there may be some... hesitation amongst officers to take you on, due to your enhancement status. Is that what's holding you back?”

“No. I just haven't found one that I like.”

“There's plenty of work in xenobiological disease research, which you're already considered a foremost expert in. Or you've talked about your time as a field medic during various skirmishes in the war.”

He hesitated. _You can do this Julian!_ He imagined it said in Jadzia's voice. She'd always pushed him the most.

“What is it?”

“I am aware that you're assessing me for my ongoing suitability within Starfleet. Gauging my mental state in case I exhibit signs of narcissism, grandeur, other un-Federation-like qualities -” as he spoke he tried his best to avoid showing the agitation and bitterness that he felt, but he knew it was bleeding through, even so, - “and so I have to tread carefully. Not show too much ambition. Anger. Paranoia, although I'd say it's warranted with what I've experienced in terms of prejudice...”

And Section 31 practises he didn't say. With his rights up in the air, he worried about them making another attempt for him, but that wasn't relevant to what he needed right now. He had purposefully neglected to mention them during any time in this process, along with anything else that he deemed would hurt his chances.

He paused for a moment to allow himself to slow down and speak calmly. Focus. He knew what he wanted. He just needed to trust her, or he would never even have the chance.

Then he continued and barely paused to take a breath until he'd finished: “All of that being said, I have abilities beyond the average sentient being. I'm no good under the restrictions placed on me. Moreover... I _do_ have ambitions. I want to do something _helpful,_ I want to be able to change things. I want to be able to change things for -for people like me, but there's no active work currently being done analysing the needs – medical and social – of engineered individuals. Everything I've accessed focusses on protection against hypothetical threats, containment, the very barest acknowledgements of sentience, yes, but nothing to actually _help_ us. At best we're allowed to function under strict parameters, such as myself or Commander Data, at worst we're hostile elements. Mostly we're pitied and feared, as though we're violent tools that might need to be locked up or destroyed if we malfunction. It's wrong! I want to -I want to do work within a field that affects me personally. That's what I want.”

He exhaled heavily. It was out now. This conversation, like the others, wasn't confidential. The doctor's opinion mattered, but she wasn't the last say on whether he was still allowed to continue in his duty, or what fields he could work in. He had gone over it all over and over, in the sense that he'd tried to find anything else that he could do that would engage him in the same way and had come up short, until he could no longer ignore it.

The only niggling alternative was Cardassia, which was why he steadfastly avoided mentioning it. It felt like a selfish want. It wasn't fair to the people there that he used their suffering for something that potentially wouldn't even work. What would he do if Garak didn't want him around for the long-term? Leave again? Better not try it and maybe if he managed to change one thing for Augments it was that in future he'd be allowed to visit planets outside of his commission without needing special allowance from Starfleet. Luckily he was passionate about his idea, so he could reason with himself that it wasn't an issue that he'd just decided definitively not to see Cardassia or Garak for the foreseeable future. _They don't need me,_ he said again.

The more immediate problem now was whether or not Starfleet would take his request as a threat, a misuse of their time and funding, or any other number of admissions of guilt on his part.

Doctor Yel'an let him speak, then took a moment longer to formulate her response. She was sharp as a tack, but he could understand that this was quite a lot of information to take in. Information that was more than he had ever shared before _and_ an indictment of the Federation's treatment of sentient lifeforms. She, too, would have to tread carefully.

“So you did have an idea after all,” she said, finally. She quirked a little smile which he took as a sign that she at least didn't think he had exhibited deliberately manipulative behaviour in not telling her earlier. She cleared her throat. “I assume you're aware that the likelihood-”

“I know,” he said quickly, then cringed, imagining faceless boards jotting down: S _ubject shows belligerence and lack of respect once alleged wants are recognised from outside parties. Suggested course of action: do not allow further discussions of this nature. Decide commission for subject, as subject is unable to control impulses and other mental faculties._

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I know, I've gone over the variables. Even to be allowed would be a miracle, never mind securing a team to assist! It would mean going into dangerous space, reaching out to people unused to non-hostile interaction, I've formulated a variety of plans to give options to Starfleet if they're willing to... consider it, at least.”

“And what do you predict a best case scenario of your research would be?”

He warmed up to the telling, now that he was able to fully share the idea with someone else. “In the short-term, a series of theses analysing differently engineered groups through both individual and quantitative data, hopefully combining my efforts with sociologists to give a proper initial account of what these various groups have been lacking and how we can best meet their requests. In the long-term we would use the data to analyse the veracity of old prejudices and give suggestions on how to best amend or outright scrap outdated law-making, as well as put up protection laws. Also, more simply, doctors need to know how to treat their patients, whatever the differences in physiology. Augmented, cloned, mechanical. It's increasingly becoming a glaringly obvious gap in medical practise.”

“Ambitious,” she said, then added, “I mean that positively. At worst?”

“At worst it would be a start. We may not find much usable data, but we would be opening the door for further ventures. At least Starfleet and the Federation would be showing goodwill and a willingness to expand their thinking.” And then, because he knew there would be others seeing this, he said, sincerely, but with a tad melodrama borrowed from lessons with Garak: “Isn't that our mission? To explore new frontiers?”

Doctor Yel'an wrote some notes onto her PADD. “That's our time for today, unless you want to add something? Any final thoughts?”

“Such as?”

“Such as... any alternate commissions that would interest you?”

He shook his head without hesitating. “No, there's nothing else I want to do.”

“Well,” she said with a sigh. “It's a long shot, but you don't need me to tell you that. I'll be stating my support though, if it makes you feel any more confident about the outcome.”

They both stood and shook hands. “Thank you,” he said warmly.

When he got back to his quarters later he idly skimmed through Garak's letter again. It was silly, he knew it off by heart, but... reading it was different to remembering it. When he read it he could picture Cardassia, Garak planting flowers, building statues, stitching a button on doctor Parmak's shirt. If he managed to get his proposed mission up and running he would make a deal with himself not to read it again until it was all over. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted if he wanted any hope of getting his proposal on its feet.

_You're always welcome, Doctor._

“Not yet, old friend. Not yet.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Julian still isn't told what's going on and tries to function under stress...

The following time was something like a nightmare. It was one he had predicted, but still, the reality hurt more than he'd been able to prepare himself for. The first consequence of his admittance was a complete shutdown of his privileges – they had been few, granted, but he missed privacy when he wanted to take a walk, having access to medical journals, and not having his schedule entirely controlled for him.

Add to that the inability to be able to complain to anyone and he was beginning to wonder if he was officially considered a prisoner or if this was another test. If the former then Starfleet was simply waiting until someone from the institute could come and pick him up, if the latter then he was better served in getting through it without complaint. He considered himself lucky that he'd had many years to practise hiding his sensory and stimulatory needs, so although he felt like he was crawling out of his skin, he was able to mask the discomfort adequately.

At least he still got to wear his uniform. It was a comfortable fabric that helped to ground him when he felt like he was bouncing off the walls, and moved his mind away from the internal. He worried he might end up having a meltdown if he allowed even a smidgeon of that constant, insistently prickling to rise to the surface.

He could function like this for as long as was needed. It just required shutting down and focusing on other things, and there _were_ parts of his schedule that he genuinely liked, particularly when various medical practitioners and scientists requested his presence for private conversation or lectures. The fact that these were optional gave him a modicum of free will, although he had a sense that even this was also a test as to whether or not he portrayed asocial tendencies. Luckily for him it wasn't an inconvenience to say yes.

When he wasn't being pushed and pulled around from assigned mealtimes, to assigned walks, to assigned follow-ups, “optional” talks, he was allowed to sit in his quarters with a PADD. He spent most of the time jotting down notes on whatever was currently going on – paranoid that they would be read through by others he avoided any descriptions of his own state of mind, instead giving only objective, outward-looking facts. _Awoken at 0600 hours. Escorted to replicator. Breakfast, scones with jam and cream. Tea – Tarkalean was added to files after my suggestion. Escorted to visual acuity follow-up test. Escorted to hand-eye coordination follow-up test. Escorted to third conversation with physician for xeno-diseases for conversation about my latest research paper (note: highly enjoyable). Managed to get updates on current conference between xeno-botanists and xeno-biologists, at which Keiko O'Brien is leading a talk on the properties of natural remedies found in Bajoran folklore applied to modern medicinal practises. Unfortunately cannot receive a pass to attend. Escorted to visual memory follow-up test. Escorted to lunch-..._

The problem with the tests was that he'd get distracted if he was bored and it was impossible for him to get away with it. It had led to some interestingly uneven mappings of his supposed genius, which he'd have found funny if he wasn't so worried about what the outcomes would mean. Just another thing he wasn't allowed to think about right now.

The worst thing was his new counsellor. He had been removed from Yel'an and assigned someone far less personable. He could guess any number of reasons for why, but none that he could actually prove. He hoped it wasn't because she'd been punished for expressing a solidarity with his goals. Naturally he hadn't been warned ahead of time either, feeling a moment of insecurity, irritability, betrayal when he walked in to see him sitting in her chair... “That makes you my sixth counsellor,” he said outwardly jovial.

“ I am Doctor Jezo. I am here to objectively ascertain the viability of the project you proposed, and specifically your involvement in it. A little different to the others.” He didn't stand or offer to shake hands, merely nodding for him to sit opposite.

Julian did so, immediately aware that this was one of the ones he had to be careful with. He'd allowed himself to get too complacent with Doctor Yel'an, almost forgetting that he didn't have confidentiality.

“Where do we begin?” asked Julian.

“First of all I've gone over your previous sessions. You've come out of them with extremely high marks, barring your outburst at your last meeting with Doctor Yel'an-”

“Outburst?”

Jezo looked at him for a couple of seconds before continuing. Julian, despite himself, began to fidget, wearing indents in his hands with his thumbs. “Like I said, barring your outburst. You've managed to hold back on certain pieces of information throughout this entire process. Why is that?”

Julian hoped he meant the commission and not other pieces of information.

If he imagined Garak here with him, giving him advice, he'd probably say not to panic. Don't give anything away that they didn't already know. If they turned out to know more, reassess then, but not before.

He took a deep breath. “I didn't think questions about my commission would become relevant until I'd already undergone the tests. After all, what's the point in talking about what you want if you're not sure yet whether you'll still have a career?”

“Can you elaborate?”

“On what?” He was very sure that there were tricks hidden in the phrasings and the questions, but without any clue as to where he stood with Starfleet he couldn't possibly begin to parse them out.

“On why you were unsure as to whether you would still have a career in Starfleet?”

Was he serious? “Because I'm unprecedented and-” he almost slipped and said that Starfleet clearly had no idea what they were doing, but caught himself and instead finished: “- Starfleet is still figuring out how to measure my capabilities and where they'd best be utilised.”

Doctor Jezo's face didn't let on whether he'd heard the slight stutter. “And what if Starfleet decides that you're best utilised somewhere else?”

“I might... have to resign,” admitted Julian. “Find other ways to get my research done.”

“I see,” said Doctor Jezo without emotion.

It was a farce. They both knew this. There was no way that Julian could get the backing, the finances, or access to the people he wished to help without Starfleet, and that was even considering he'd be allowed to leave earth legally. He wasn't on DS9 where Federation law was nebulously enforced, he was in the heart of its territory. The only way he could miraculously accomplish any of it would be by breaking the law and then no respectable medical journal would publish his findings.

Starfleet was his only choice, and also his _home_ and he hated having to consider them the enemy. He could only hope that they thought enough of his abilities that they still felt he belonged.

______________________

The sessions continued like this for over a week. The placid Doctor Jezo seemed to exist to politely try to get him to say something stupid or incriminating, suggesting over and over that he was holding things back. Julian for his part was beginning to think he might be losing it. He'd gone through his commission plans, making additions and rectifying any bits he felt were too unrealistic, but looking at it for too long just made him more anxious.

Maybe they really weren't testing him for this commission, maybe they were using him for something else. Trying to see how far the Augment could be pushed until breaking to prove that it was his own fault if they kicked him out. He wished he wouldn't give them the satisfaction, but the longer this went on, the more he worried that it was out of his hands. He could feel the jitteriness coming out through his hands when he spoke, the quick, jerky sentences, the way he froze once he was alone in his room, like he'd stopped working. The last time he'd been pushed this far had been aged fifteen, when he'd been doing his best to suppress all mannerisms that made him stand out. But as he'd learnt then there was only so long one could function on disassociation.

“Why are you fidgeting, doctor Bashir?” asked Jezo.

Julian exhaled. Inhaled. He knew the techniques, he'd been practising keeping himself together his whole life. The lights had been turned up since he'd been in here with doctor Yel'an. She'd seemed to know that bright lights gave him headaches and made him feel a tinnitus-like ringing in his ears. It wasn't dangerous. He'd diagnosed himself, nothing dangerous, just stress. He continued to fiddle with the sleeve of his uniform. At least the texture of that was right, even if nothing else was.

“Honestly?” he heard himself say and immediately put himself on red alert. Focus.

“Honesty would be appreciated,” said Jezo.

Exhale. Inhale. “It gives me something to do with my hands,” he said, truthfully. Truthful enough. Like Garak had always done, packaging the truth in layers was a better way to lie than actually lying.

“I'm getting a sense that you're not entirely interested in these proceedings,” said Jezo.

“What makes you think that?”

“The fact that you continue to be dishonest with me.”

“I- I'm not.” He cringed inwardly. Garak would have been disappointed in him after so many years of lunch. _Still so transparent,_ he'd tut.

Jezo just looked unimpressed. “Every time I ask you to elaborate on an answer you avoid doing so.”

“Do I?” said Julian, wishing he could be more enigmatic and less juvenile.

After a couple of seconds of simply looking at him, Jezo seemed to change the subject: “I asked you in our first session what you would do if Starfleet wasn't willing to support you with this commission and you answered that you'd resign.”

“I remember...”

“We never picked up on it again at the time. Resigning seems to be an extreme reaction to being asked to consider alternate options. That sort of thing happens all the time.”

“It's not the same,” said Julian.

“Why not?”

“Because this isn't a passing interest.”

“Neither are many commissions that aren't approved.”

“They're different – _I'm_ different.”

“What makes you different from other officers?

“Because unlike other officers I don't know if I can trust Starfleet to have my best interests at heart!” he snapped. “So far I've been treated like a prisoner, I've second-guessed my own actions continuously, I've bent over backwards to accommodate everything that's been asked of me-”

“Why?”

“ _Why?”_

“Why go through all the trouble?”

“Because I... I still want to believe that Starfleet stands for new ideas, exploration, building, _saving_ lives, not... whatever _this_ is.” Julian stood, suddenly at the edge. He was going to do something incredibly stupid if he stayed here. “I'm not doing any more of these. I'm done.”

He stood, leaving the ever-impassive Jezo behind.

Well that was his career and his life done with. Might as well stomp to the park, seeing as he'd already made the decision to trample over Starfleets rules. He could make it official by also going off-schedule. Besides, if he didn't get outside immediately he might fuck everything up further by doing something in public he'd never done in front of others before, such as banging his head against a wall. So much for a stable Augment. He really was no different than the rest.

Maybe he deserved to be in an institution, maybe challenging the laws on Augments was ridiculous, maybe he was useless after all- he lay back in the grass, feeling it tickle his hands. He focused on the tickling. _Stop thinking, Julian, stop thinking-_ “stop thinking, Julian,” he murmured. “Stop thinking. Stop thinking.” Eyes shut. Grass. Smell of the air. This was earth. Something about it would always be inside him, even as he missed every second on Deep Space Nine, away-missions, the Defiant, wishing he could be up amongst the stars again. Grass. Stars. Machine whirs. Tickling. Air. Infirmary smells. Late nights. Exhaustion. Cell. Solitary. Wounds. Gunshots.

He opened his eyes wide and sat up, heart hammering. Where had they come from? But the park was quiet. Somewhere he could discern several species of bird, the sounds of people, water fountains, feet approaching him. No gunshots. Just in his mind. He'd been lax and let them through his defences. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

“Doctor Bashir.” The footsteps stopped next to him and he looked up into the face of admiral Sackett.

Hurriedly he stood, brushing off any grass from his hands before straightening. “Sir, I apologise-” and felt himself at a loss for words.

Admiral Sackett seemed amused. “Apologise for what?”

“Uh. Nothing, sir.”

“At ease,” she said, even smiling for brief second.

Julian relaxed incrementally. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Permission granted.”

“What is going on?”

“I'm here to inform you of the decisions made by Starfleet in terms of the request you made for your commission.”

“... oh.”

“You have to understand Doctor,” she said and began to walk. Julian followed suit, feeling like he'd just fallen through the rabbit-hole. “We had to be sure that you were suitable. What you propose is... unorthodox and not everybody wanted to support you or allow Starfleet resources to be used in that manner. And then when we had made a decision and this ship was allocated for you it prompted even more push-back. We had to get everybody on board.”

“You make it sound like I was allocated Enterprise-E or something,” half-laughed Julian.

Sackett's face didn't shift.

Julian stopped laughing. “Uh. It's _not_ the Enterprise, right?”

“When I say _allocated,_ what I mean is that Captain Picard was interested in having you aboard. You have to understand, there was more than one call to veto that ship. But Picard was insistent.”

“But... _why_?”

“He said that going by the specifications of your research, you might be well-served beginning with lieutenant-commander Data. The two of you are already acquainted, I believe.”

The Enterprise. Never in a million years would he have guessed or even hoped that... “This is real? I'll be working on the Enterprise? With Captain Picard?”

“There are conditions.”

Naturally there were conditions, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. He was going to be on the Enterprise. “What are they?”

“There will be a trial period before you can begin the research, in which we see how well you do on the ship. You will be restricted to medical, science, and communal spaces, with the former two needing supervision. And you will be working with counsellor Deanna Troi, who will be sending reports on your development.”

Okay, that stung. “You are aware that I successfully ran the medical and science wings on a space station in a war-zone without breaking anything. I'm not a child.”

She had the decency to at least look uncomfortable. “Yes, well, those were the compromises needed to keep everyone relatively happy.”

Julian exhaled. “Okay. Okay, I understand. But Picard requested me? So the issues aren't with the crew, it's just a formality.”

“I can't promise that everyone in the crew will be accepting. The captain made the informal offer after discussing with his officers, as well as getting reports from the O'Briens and Commander Worf. He trusts their judgement.”

Julian bit back a retort that it seemed nobody else did, figuring that he shouldn't be pushing his luck now, especially after he'd just stormed unsupervised out of Doctor Jezo's session. He could imagine any alarmist responses that had come out of that little stunt, even if it had only gone as far as him going outside to lie down for a moment.

“What this means is that everyone will be prepared for you to come onboard and willing to engage in this experiment. If you accept along with the conditions placed upon you.”

“I accept,” said Julian quickly. “When...?”

“Immediately. The Enterprise just docked, so pack your things. And doctor. We want you to know that Starfleet places a great deal of value on your abilities. We were never planning on letting them go to waste.”

Something about her word-choice left a bad taste in his mouth, but he let it go in favour of the big picture. He was leaving earth. He was being allowed his commission. He was accepted on the Enterprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Dad-Picard, reuniting with Best Boy Data, various Enterprise crew responses to his presence, and avoiding more counselling if he can!


	3. Chapter 3

The first person he met when he was beamed aboard was Commander Data, which filled him with some confidence. “Hello doctor,” he said. “It is good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” answered Julian brightly. On stepping down he took Data's outstretched hand with gusto and gripped his other arm tightly in lieu of actually hugging him. Data looked down at his grasp, and back up again, nodding as though he approved. All of the kinship he'd originally felt to the android flooded back.

There was a woman next to him who waited until they were finished before briskly introducing herself: “Doctor Bashir. I'm Ensign Anna Allenby. I'm going to be your liaison while you're on the Enterprise, escort you around the ship, give you access to medical and research facilities and be in charge of your schedule.”

“Aren't I in charge of my schedule?” said Julian, stepping back from Data.

“You'll be letting me know what your plans are ahead of time, so that I can sort out a security detail.”

“And if I spontaneously want to go somewhere?”

“You can contact me at any time, but it would be preferable if you kept to a fixed routine as much as possible.”

“I see...” Well, from that little exchange he could surmise that not everyone was equally as thrilled for someone like him to be there. He wondered how many others echoed that sentiment.

“You appear to be distracted, doctor,” said Data, shaking him out of that train of thought before it could get too depressing.

“It's... nothing.” He rallied, focusing his attentions on Data instead. “I, uh, don't know how much the crew's been told about my presence here. I assume you have an idea.”

The three of them began to walk down the corridor as Data answered. “The senior staff has been informed about your role aboard the Enterprise. I personally was consulted on your proposed research, as I am one of the subjects of it.”

“And what did you think?”

“It was impressive,” he said. “Up until that moment I had not considered that my needs as a bio-cybernetic individual fell within the field of medical practise.” He looked at him. “Thank you, doctor, for your consideration.”

“You're very welcome,” said Julian, grateful for the reminder of why he was here in the first place.

They reached his quarters and Ensign Allenby spoke again. “The Captain will meet you in his ready room once you've settled in. Just contact me when you want to be taken to him.” With that she headed off.

“I have duties to attend to as well, but we can have dinner at 1900 hours,” said Data.

“I'd like that.”

“I will tell Ensign Allenby to put it in your schedule.”

Then Julian was suddenly alone in front of his new room. He took a deep breath before entering... and felt himself somewhat overwhelmed. Somehow he'd dreaded seeing it, as though it would be small and squalid – actually there probably wasn't a closet on the Enterprise that could be categorised as that, but this was downright nice. And large. Living area, replicator, bathroom, bedroom. It was... good. And he wasn't confined here, even if he _did_ have to make an appointment first.

Speaking of that, he needed to see Captain Picard in his ready room. He hadn't met him before, arriving on DS9 for the first time after Picard had left and not having the opportunity to bump into him when he'd stopped by the last time.

Picard hadn't met him at the transporter, but that didn't need to mean anything. A captain had lots of duties, personally greeting one new addition to the ship probably wasn't one of them.

After Julian had explored his rooms and placed his bags ready to be unpacked next to his bed – Kukalaka he put straight on the night-stand – he wandered back out into the hallway and began to casually walk towards the mess-hall.

His destination contained a few off-duty officers, ensigns, and engineers. No sign of anyone that he knew, not that he was massively familiar with the crew. He walked to the replicator and ordered a tea, feeling eyes turning towards him and hearing the beginnings of hushed conversation. Clearly everyone knew exactly who and what he was and weren't being subtle about their opinions. A few people shot him dark looks, but nobody said anything outright, which was a relief, but sitting down here for a drink was out of the question.

He escaped as quickly as possible and instead headed straight for the bridge. Might as well get his meeting with Picard over with.

The senior staff spun around to look at him as he entered and he had the sudden awareness that this wasn't like Deep Space Nine at all. Heading up to operations just to see what was going on wasn't going to be allowed here and regardless of how he was treated he'd have to make more of an effort to understand the formalities of his new posting. “I, uh, have an appointment with the Captain,” he said.

A woman stood - “Doctor Bashir? Deanna Troi, ship's counsellor -” oh dear, another counsellor.

“Troi? Are you related to-”

She grimaced slightly, but it turned into a fond smile when she answered - “Lwaxana Troi is my mother. I'm only half Betazoid though, I can't read anyone's mind.”

He was still holding his cup of tea, which saved him from a handshake, but not from feeling like he'd just regressed eight years back to the doctor who'd been unable to interact properly with any of the other staff – at least he wasn't about to ask her out to dinner, although she absolutely was his type: older, unavailable, intelligent enough to run circles around him - augmentation or no augmentation.

She smiled slightly, which made him relatively sure that she could read _something,_ even if it wasn't his exact thoughts, and tapped her combadge. “Captain. Doctor Bashir is here to see you.”

“Thank you, send him in.”

Counsellor Troi led him past the bridge and to the Captain's ready room. He couldn't help but feel in awe of this space, pausing for a moment to lean over the railing so he could take in the view.

“I felt the same thing when I first saw it,” said counsellor Troi. “I still often find myself getting lost in how beautiful it is.”

He sent her a small, sincere smile. She hadn't embarrassed him for his sudden appearance up here, or for getting distracted on his way to the captain. That was something.

When she gestured towards the ready room he tore himself away and followed her, heart hammering. He was going to meet Captain Jean-Luc Picard and he'd begun by practically barging in and then keeping him waiting in favour of admiring his bridge, which he wasn't technically allowed to be on in the first place. Good start.

Counsellor Troi left him at the door, with a friendly: “Just go in.” He might've stood out there forever in any other circumstances, but knowing that he was definitely being observed by the senior crew meant that the only escape from further scrutiny was to face Picard instead.

He entered.

Picard sat behind a desk, going over something on a PADD, but looked up when the door opened. “Doctor Bashir,” he said, walking around his desk and extending his hand.

Julian became suddenly aware of the tea he'd brought with him from the mess-hall, and put it down quickly before taking it. “Captain.” He remained wary for now, but was unwilling to think anything but well of this man after all the stories he'd heard from Miles and Worf, not to mention his service record.

“Data speaks highly of you,” said Picard. “He's probably told you already, but he's very interested in being involved in your project.”

“He told me, yes- ” he was about to continue, but Picard had offered him a seat and that distracted him enough to miss his chance.

“He actually requested he be the one to meet you,” Picard said while returning to his own chair. “And I trust that Ensign Allenby gave you a rundown of how Starfleet expects your time here to work.”

“She... did,” said Julian. “Captain, I have a confession to make.”

Picard looked a little startled at Julian's blunt non-sequitur. “... Go on.”

“I made my way to the bridge without the security detail. If I'm being honest I don't like being surrounded by guards.”

“I... appreciate your honesty,” he said, not giving anything away. “It must be quite a challenge to adapt to your new situation after everything that's happened in the last eight years. However whilst aboard this ship I do expect you to follow the rules that I set out for you.”

Julian nodded, feeling chastised, but not enough to not have to actively resist answering back that if the rules weren't different to those set for everyone else he might have an easier time following them. _Bad idea Julian,_ said an internal Jadzia-voice _._ Or maybe it was Miles. Or Ezri.

Picard seemed to change tact before the subject became too awkward. “I understand that the Dominion War was incredibly difficult for the crew of Deep Space Nine. You were at the front lines and dealt with the brunt of the onslaught. You, personally, were a prisoner of war.

“Yes, for five weeks... Nothing happened there,” he added quickly, like an automatic response to a question that hadn't been asked for a few years now.

“No. of course.” Picard's voice grew soft, as though he were half-speaking to himself. He waited a few seconds, while Julian reminded himself that he was an adult and he would not squirm in his seat. “You know, I was captured by the Cardassians. Before the withdrawal from Bajor, the wormhole, the Dominion. It feels like a lifetime ago now. You must still have been at medical school.”

Picard stopped speaking for a moment. Julian stayed quiet, unsure if he was expected to answer or what he even _could_ answer. Picard looked at him for a long moment. “I was only in their... _tender_ care for a short time, but it has affected me ever since. And I knew what to expect, I was supported afterwards, I wasn't... fresh out of school-”

“It was five years after I left Starfleet Academy,” said Julian, feeling the need to clarify. He hadn't been the inexperienced officer who'd first stepped onto the station. That man wouldn't have been able to handle it. He'd handled it.

Picard looked at him as though surprised by that answer. “I know, I've read your file - with a great deal of interest, I might add. You've had quite a career so far, not to mention your background.”

“My genetically engineered background.”

“Yes.” He levelled Julian with a scrutiny that he couldn't place. Like he was trying to assess him. It wasn't uncomfortable as such, but Julian was aware of the fact that this meeting would decide once and for all if he was going to be welcome aboard this ship. Never mind all those people who'd stared and whispered about him in the mess hall, or the hostile attitude of Ensign Allenby, or anyone in Starfleet Command that didn't trust him, it was all down to this man.

“I expect you to take your sessions with Counsellor Troi seriously,” he said suddenly, turning away again. His next sentence sounded to Julian almost... irritated: “And we won't be keeping you under surveillance, you'll receive the clearance you're _owed_ as a Starfleet officer.”

“Really? That's not-” he bit his tongue.

“Not what, doctor?”

“Not... what I expected. From you sir. Your reputation is...”

“I know my reputation.” Luckily Picard seemed amused rather than offended. “A captain of the flagship can't afford to be quite as openly confrontational towards Starfleet as one who's at the front lines of a cross-galaxy war, like Captain Sisko was.”

Julian ducked his head. For some reason hearing his name was still adequate enough to make his chest hurt. How to explain that you missed being on those front lines, with a Captain that was more than just a commanding officer, who'd been... almost the father that so many of the Deep Space Nine crew had lacked in their lives.

Picard continued, unaware of the effect invoking Sisko had caused. “But over these last few years I have come to a greater understanding of – shall we call them the cracks in Starfleets structures. You almost fell through those cracks. I couldn't let that happen.”

“If you'll forgive me asking sir, why do you care?”

Another one of those longer stares. “I suppose we can say it was a moment of inspiration,” said Picard finally. “I remembered, as I read about your case, that I was once put in the position of defending one of my then Lieutenants' rights to be known as sentient. At the time I decided that I had done my part. But I saw that was wrong when I read that someone else in Starfleet was being put in a similar position, _without_ his captain to vouch for him...”

“... permission to speak freely, sir.”

“Permission granted.”

Julian took a breath. “I expected something different from the Federation. From Starfleet. I expected better from them. But what they did to me, what they're doing to others, it's wrong.” He looked directly at Picard as he said it, not confrontational (he thought), but wanting to know, definitively, where Picard landed on this divide. There was no neutral party as far as he was concerned.

Picard, equally, held his gaze. “Learning that the systems we trust in are flawed spurs our dedication to affect change within those systems,” he answered. “There is no system that is exempt from that need.”

Julian answered him with a frustrated huff. “I knew there were things to change, but I'd somehow thought that I was... not free from the prejudice, but trusted. Or that Starfleet had a plan, or... _something._ But I may as well have been in a Cardassian court for all I had any say in the matter. The fact that _I_ need to prove myself in order to be on this ship, after everything, when Starfleet abandoned the demilitarized zone, underestimated the Dominion, pushed Captain Sisko to extremes until-... we were on our own out there and once I return _I'm_ the threat, as if everything that happened meant _nothing-”_ he stopped suddenly.

Picard was watching him with the same taciturn face he'd worn before he'd begun to rant, but Julian had seen enough of people not to trust a lack of reaction. He sighed. “Apologies, Captain.”

Picard waved the apology away. “Judging by your reports you were always very direct, to the point of potentially getting yourself into trouble-” he said pointedly, but then added as a balm: “Although Captain Sisko had a great deal of respect for your opinion, and I understand why based on your record. I had found it curious that that opinion had been somewhat lacking in your last two months at Starfleet HQ, but I'm beginning to have a better sense of why that might have been..."

He trailed off, but Julian once more couldn't think of anything to say. This wasn't the Picard he'd expected at all. He was stern, yes, but he was - if not as naturally paternal as Sisko - fair and protective of his crew, of which Julian now found he felt himself to be a part of.

Picard stood once more, which Julian took as a sign that the meeting was coming to a close. “I'm excited to begin working with you, Doctor," he said. "And I will be expecting the very highest professional standards from you. As I do with all my officers.”

“Yes sir,” said Julian.

“And, while I will be looking into getting the restrictions lifted, I do so on the promise that you take your sessions with counsellor Troi seriously.”

“Right... sir?” he said as he was about to leave.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

____________________

Picard kept his promises. He no longer needed someone else to open doors to the research facilities, was given free rein across the majority of the ship, and was given plenty of time to reacquaint himself with Data. He seemed to be stuck with Ensign Allenby though, who made it a point to show him around the ship and organise his personal schedule for him.

For now that schedule was about meeting his coworkers – Doctor Crusher, nurse Oginawa, and Geordi LaForge in particular – and beginning discussions with them and Data about preliminary steps. Even before such simple questions as he'd asked the first time he met Data (does your hair grow, do you breathe...) they needed to establish exactly what the process would look like. It was boring work, compared to what was to come, but necessary.

He spent his time when not working or indulging Data and Geordi in the occasional meal either in his rooms or in the holosuites. At first he practised racquet-ball with himself, programming the room to look like the one he'd played with O'Brien in on DS9. It wasn't long before he started creating the specs for the promenade, the shops, Quark's bar, ops. He didn't include any characters, but just walked around on his own.

That was where he was when counsellor Troi signalled him from outside the holosuite some nine rotations later. He sighed. “Computer, end program.” The corner of Quark's bar where he'd played darts disappeared as the holosuite returned to its standard configuration. “Come in counsellor.”

She entered. “Hello doctor. I hope I'm not intruding.”

“Not at all, I was just finishing up.”

“May I ask what the program was?”

“Oh, just... tennis,” he said vaguely. “Um. Why were you looking for me?”

“I have a feeling that you've been avoiding me,” she said, with a directness he hadn't expected.

“I've... been busy,” he answered, which was the truth and also obviously not the truth.

“Yes, I know. But I can't write reports to Starfleet and the captain that you're attending your mandated counselling sessions if you don't attend.” She spoke playfully, but Julian couldn't help but feel uncomfortable about the fact that she could read him so easily. His passing thoughts on the first day about how beautiful she was, his awe at the Enterprise, nervousness about seeing the captain, everything going on in his head right now. At least she couldn't actually read his thoughts. “I promise I'm not trying to trick you,” she added. “I can't prove that though, until you talk to me.”

He hesitated. Nodded.

“This way,” she said and he forced himself to follow, trying not to think or feel anything that she could pick up on and knowing he was failing miserably.


	4. Chapter 4

She led him to her office – as comfortable as the rest of the ship so far had been – and bade him sit down. He did so, making a decision to not say anything until he knew what route she would be taking. Not that he expected her to be like some of the others, but then again, he couldn't read her as easily as she could read him. Maybe her exterior was just a mask. Garak would probably say so, or something equally as pessimistic. _Pragmatic, my dear doctor,_ he imagined him retorting fondly.

“I understand that this must be uncomfortable for you, doctor,” Counsellor Troi began. “After all, this mission is about challenging outdated assumptions about people like you. So I will let you know straight away, I am not planning on assessing your capability as an officer or a doctor, you've already proven that many times over. I _was_ however hoping to have a conversation about some bits and pieces of your files that... concerned me.”

Julian hesitated: “When you say concerned...?”

“I noticed that your outing coincided with your return from a Dominion Prison Camp. I also noticed that in the commotion that followed your outing you were never assigned the usual mandatory counsellor following an ordeal like that. In fact, putting aside the number of counsellors and psychiatrists meant to gauge any possible issues that might arise in your continued working in Starfleet, you haven't been assigned a single person to discuss this, nor did you bring it up yourself.”

“Look, counsellor we _were_ at war, there was a lot going on, counselling was...” he struggled again. He hadn't prepared for the eventuality that anyone would ever call him out on this, making the – until now – correct assumption that bigger things like the war and his status would distract from the obvious. Now that he thought about it, Picard had also been strangely fixated on his imprisonment. He wished he could gauge what that meant for him. “It wasn't needed,” he finished lamely.

“It was required. Especially once that war was finished. The fact that nobody noticed ought to be grounds for an investigation,” she said, still calm and polite, but with a serious undertone that he didn't know how to respond to.

He felt himself begin to panic. “Don't do that,” he said, hoping it had come out less strangled than he felt. “It wouldn't be helpful, if Starfleet thought that I'd held back any information about my mental state- please don't.”

She frowned. “I understand. You tell the truth and risk being judged too unstable. You reveal that you _didn't_ tell the truth and are deemed manipulative.”

For a second he was surprised that she'd not only summed up the issue so simply, but understood it at all. When the truth of her words sunk in all he could do was nod. It wasn't fair, he wanted to say, but didn't. He wasn't a child, even if he wished he could go back and try to remake his childhood.

Deanna clicked her teeth, thinking to herself for a moment before looking at him again. “Nevertheless, the most important thing is that you talk to _someone._ Did you ever do that? A friend, a family member?”

“You probably know that my father was released from prison last year, I think that says a lot about the state of my family. Colonel Kira and I occasionally talked about... aspects of the war shortly before she left DS9, but we all had the same experiences, counsellor. What was there to tell?”

“Well, to begin with,” she said, “what was it like when you first came onto Deep Space Nine?”

That made him do another double-take. She seemed to exist to catch him off-guard, but not unpleasantly so, in the way that Jezar and others had wanted to push him.

Unbidden he wondered whether this was a trick, trying to soften him up because Starfleet had in fact noticed the discrepancies and were trying to find new ways to trip him up. But she had kind eyes, he thought. And there was no way he could work with this crew unless they trusted each other, she was right about that. Perhaps that was more difficult for some of them, for now, but he didn't want to be trapped by the same suspicions.

There were things he didn't want to talk about, but coming onto Deep Space Nine, that was... that was a fond memory. He smiled, but then lost the smile when he began to take in the details of that man, eight years ago. “Twenty-six,” he said softly to himself. “Just out of Starfleet Academy... never even been further away from home than Mars... and he immediately made a fool of himself with his colleagues and his commander.”

“He was naïve. Young.” said Deanna.

“Yes,” agreed Julian. “He was. He joined Starfleet to save lives.”

__________________________

He was exhausted by the time he returned to his quarters. He'd spoken with counsellor Troi – Deanna – for about an hour. She'd been very careful to end it then with the promise of another session tomorrow. Julian had felt like they'd only just started, but he understood why she'd made the decision the second he was alone again and his whole body sagged against the wall. He let himself slide down it.

Gradually he became aware that he hadn't let himself do this back on earth, or even on the Enterprise yet, in fear that he was being watched and any sign of weakness would be used against him. But he was safe here. He _was._ For the first time he felt like he could start to believe it. He gripped his knees to his chest and shut his eyes, letting the wall protect him from feeling like he was falling and falling and...

He jerked awake. He'd woken up after sliding further down and almost dropping to the floor. His neck and legs ached, but he didn't particularly want to move to the bed, so he compromised by stretching out where he sat for a few seconds before slumping back with a grunt. He really hadn't let himself be tired for so long that it felt like now that he could, a tension that he'd hitherto not noticed was crawling out of its hiding place in his bones.

The discomfort crept into his skin like a colony of insects, as though the floodgates had been opened and everything he'd been holding back spilled into him. He curled in on himself again, digging his eyes into his knees until he saw stars behind them. “It's okay,” he mumbled. “It's okay, it's okay, it's okay...” exhale. He'd dealt with this before, he'd be okay. It would get worse before it got better, but it was okay, it was okay- he choked out a sob, pressing his legs harder against his chest. If Starfleet could see him now he doubted anyone would be coming to tell him that his skills were valued! It was all a lie, just as much as the abilities themselves.

“That's wrong, that's wrong,” he purposefully tried to keep his repetitions to something not self-undermining. He'd _earned_ his place, Deanna had said... she'd said... he'd made the decision to join Starfleet, to become a doctor, to go to DS9, to try and become a member of a group of people that hadn't liked him at first, and he'd succeeded... “I did that,” he said.

Deanna was a surprise. He'd never spoken with anyone before who'd told him to recontextualise his mistakes like she had done. He'd been so focused on all the things he lacked that he hadn't taken the time to look at how far he'd come. In this moment though it didn't matter, because he knew his current discomfort didn't stem from his insecurities, this was just his body, his stupid, malfunctioning – he hit himself in the head suddenly: “Stop,” he said through gritted teeth, repeating himself every time he hit himself again, “stop, stop, stop.”

At that point he managed to very deliberately unclench his fist and place his hand softly against his temples, fingers digging into his hair. He exhaled. The feeling was still there, throughout his whole body, but it had dissipated after he'd managed to centre his attention on the hand lying cool against his face.

He inhaled and exhaled again. “It's okay,” he said on the out breath. He felt too tired right now for a proper break down, but considered this to have been an uncomfortable prelude. “I'll reschedule for next week please,” he murmured out loud and laughed softly into the room, once more leaning back and relaxing his limbs a little.

In the new silence he contemplated dragging himself to the bed, but didn't feel safe letting go of the wall just yet. His mind then naturally returned to Deanna again. He'd only really managed to tell her a little about his first year on DS9. She'd asked him if he was lonely after his fifth joke about how nobody had liked him. After his admission that maybe he had been, she'd asked him what he liked about himself, continuing her trend of stopping him on his tracks. She'd probably seen his hesitation, ending the session by saying that he didn't need to answer. He just needed to write down whatever he could think of and bring it along next time.

“What do I like about myself?” On the tail-end of an anxiety attack, half-lying on the floor, was probably not what Deanna had intended, but he may as well start now that his mind was on it. Tired or not he wasn't going to sleep now.

“Computer, start Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir's personal log, entry three. What do I like about myself? I am... a good doctor,” he began, then needed another moment. “And a good researcher. And... I'm capable in a number of fields beyond the confines of medicine – I took an engineers extension course. And I'm good at tennis. I believe I can be counted on in a tight spot to not let others down. I have -” he remembered suddenly the words that Admiral Sackett had said on his last day on earth. “I have a number of abilities that are of value to Starfleet,” he finished.

He made an annoyed sound, knowing that he wasn't doing this like Deanna wanted him to and not keen for her to see him as more pitiable than she already did. He spoke loudly into the room: “I Am... reliable. There. I think...” He winced. He would definitely need to test this before he took it to the counsellor. “I am reliable.” Quieter, but with more confidence. “I... care. Sometimes too much. And I tell others my opinion. Not always to my own benefit, but it's... when I feel that it's the right thing to do. I stick to my morals. I am loyal to my friends once I've got them and I believe I've inspired loyalty as well... that'll be enough to start off with, computer, paiselog.”

He sighed, a long, purposeful exhale that expelled the vestiges of the creeping itch from his body and left his muscles aching as if he'd just run a marathon. He felt a relief at the feeling, the familiar aftermath of these kinds of moments. He had, on some level, been irrationally worried that he'd hollowed himself out over the last month on Earth, but the pain in his temples and body made him feel like it belonged to him again. It wasn't a comfortable belonging, but rather like he'd been forced into an ill-fitting suit – he smiled at that metaphor. “Garak, you wouldn't stand for that, would you? Badly tailored suits.” He touched the arm of his uniform. Garak had made it to specification, softer and looser than Starfleet-issued versions. He'd made him three on a discount and Julian had worn them on rotation ever since, occasionally bringing them in to get fixed at no extra charge.

It was little specific things like that he was finding he missed the most. “Still, it fits well enough,” he continued. “And it's better than not being in the body at all.”

He thought again of that young, brash man who had entered Deep Space Nine for the first time. He couldn't say that he was proud of the way he had conducted himself on occasion, but at least he now knew why he'd been like that. On some level he still _was_ , he thought, mind wandering to Ezri and Sarina. He still hadn't learnt how to respond rationally to the connections he had with other people, to the detriment of his relationships. He would presumably always have an element of that within him, struggle to understand what was wanted from him in certain situations, let his excitement run away with him, say or do something that offended someone – “and not _always_ on purpose,” he said, remembering memorable occasions with Kai Winn, Dukat, Sloan, Admiral Ross.

In so many ways he gained a comfort from the augments he'd met so far - in Sarina, Lauren, Patrick, Jack. They committed the same sins that he did, just more noticeably so. Locked up like they'd been without stimulus he could imagine himself ending up very similar to them and even without that limitation of his freedom he'd had difficulties. And he'd _believed_ the first time he'd met them that he was somehow... _above_ them. The exception to the rule. Rather than admitting to himself that the rule was at fault and their non-consensual removal from society, from learning, from connections, was somehow an ethical violation he'd preferred to pretend that he was... _normal._ As if hundreds of years of human history hadn't sought to dispel that concept. As if...

"Computer, make note: The personality traits displayed by augments are not caused _by_ the augmentations, but are pre-existing neurological traits - research the history of neurodiversity. Question: In what way would the augmentations affect said traits, positively, negatively. In what way am... _I..._ similar to the person I might have been without the augmentations? End note."

It was all so very simple and yet he hadn't considered it before. He was considered disabled prior to his augmentations but he'd always blamed his later social clumsiness on overthinking how to hide those augmentations, not as an extension of traits he would've possessed regardless. Put like that he wasn't just condemning the treatment of augments, but was becoming a part of a continued discussion on what kinds of children were considered normal enough to not be in danger of being augmented in the first place, regardless of their perceived _"ability to contribute."_

Julian had a fondness for the man of eight years ago, he'd realised as he'd spoken of him to the counsellor. He'd been flawed - he was still flawed in many of the same ways - but he had been very much himself, even, despite the secret hanging Damocles Sword-like over his head, an innocent. And that couldn't have been down to the augmentations. That could only really have been himself.

He'd also noticed that he'd purposefully tried not to think about that Julian for the last few years, as if he belonged to some other life... but he'd mourned the past for too long. If he was taking steps to protect the Jules he no longer was then he could do his best to take care of the Julian who'd only been too excited, too unprepared, to naïve, for everything that lay ahead.

He said out loud: “Computer, continue doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir's personal log, entry three. I'm a doctor. Not for Starfleet, not to prove anything. To save lives...”  
  
  
  
  
\------- The End -------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be following up on Julian's time on the Enterprise in future...


End file.
